On the wooden frame of this bed
Lie all the secrets in my head
With the keys to the metaphors
Resting in the crystal glass drawers
Where illusion is prophecy
And the god is hypocrisy
Like a soft dream I never dreamed
With the terror that never screamed
This cradle is the infancy
Of the lies of my fallacy
So burn the skeleton of rest
In the fire within a chest
That beams a golden hue of truth
And eradicates every tooth

Now you shall Speak with no bite
Now you shall Sleep with no fight